


The Key

by Pfain Ryder (Cat_Moon)



Category: Quantum Leap
Genre: M/M, Post-leap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-07-31 21:14:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20121763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cat_Moon/pseuds/Pfain%20Ryder
Summary: Sam comes to a heartbreaking conclusion about how much Al truly lost when Beth didn't wait for him.





	The Key

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in "Let It Be Me" # 2. 1995.

Sam shut off the computer and rose, going over to stand by the window. It was too dark to make out the view beyond, he could see only his troubled reflection in the pane.

The bedroom door was ajar, the faint sound of Al's light snores drifting out to him. It was usually a comforting sound. Not tonight. Tonight it just left him feeling anguished.

If only he hadn't had such an insatiable curiosity.

Two weeks ago, life had been resurrected from a hollow existence. Fourteen days ago, he'd moved into Al's apartment. It was a new experience for both of them, but working as the efficient team they'd always been, it proved a breeze so far. Al had been terrific, despite Sam's worries about invading his 'male territory'; as generous with that as he was with his time, his patience, his understanding, and his love.

Their combined belongings were taxing the already over-filled apartment, and rarely-used things--both of theirs--had gone into storage, awaiting some future day when they'd have a bigger home. Al had turned over his spare room to Sam's complete disposal, encouraging him to change and rearrange every last paint chip and knickknack, if he so desired. It had undergone a complete make-over, and now served as a cozy study for both of them.

Sam had excitedly gone to town on the whole place; together they'd rearranged furniture, put up new curtains, converting it from the former modern decor of Al's, to a predominately Southwestern style. His enthusiasm was exactly what Al had intended. He wanted Sam to feel like this was his home--because it was. From Sam's point of view, the concern was unnecessary. It was home the moment he'd stepped over the threshold.

He'd told Al home is where _you_ are.

Sam pulled the key out of his robe pocket, turning it over in his fingers. He'd found it while cleaning, and some sixth sense had stopped him from asking Al what it opened. Instead, he did some detective work. The key had a number on it, a name, it could be traced. For a super-computer like Ziggy, it was an easy task to trace the key back to its lock. A safety deposit box in San Diego. Only, technically, it wasn't Al's key.

The box was also in Beth Calavicci's name.

Sam only wished he'd left well enough alone, then. But the curiosity only deepened...to the point of no return.

"Sam, are you still up?" Al's voice was suddenly behind him, asking in familiar, affectionate exasperation.

Sam spun around. His fingers fumbled with the key, and it slipped out of his grasp. It clattered to the floor at his feet, the sound seeming to echo loudly in the quiet room.

At first, they both stood there, looking down. A moment frozen in time. Then, he quickly stooped down and retrieved it, sneaking a side-long glance at his lover.

"Where'd you get that?" Al asked sharply.

"I...found it. While I was cleaning." For a second--only a second--he wanted pretend ignorance, innocently ask what it was for. But he never lied to Al.

"You little snoop!" Oddly, the tone was neither angry, nor calm.

Sam wondered if Al could read his mind. Most likely though, it was the guilty expression he'd read. "I'm sorry," he whispered, reaching out to hand the key over. "It's none of my business..." He started to walk past, toward the bedroom.

Strong hands gripped his shoulders, blocking his escape. A probing gaze scrutinized him. Then, Al sighed softly. "I think we'd better talk."

They went into the bedroom silently, their preferred place for heart-to-heart talks in the long hours of the night. There'd been plenty in the past weeks. Often, it was hard on both of them, but a catharsis, too. A necessary evil, like the dentist. Sam folded his robe over a chair with careful precision, in a inane attempt to prolong the inevitable.

When he finally climbed into bed, he was gathered in warm, comforting arms, rocked slightly. "It's just a bunch of old stuff I haven't seen in twenty-five years," Al said dismissively. "Why is this bothering you so much?"

"It's not...I thought...I didn't realize..." How could he explain all that he was feeling? "She took _everything_ away from you," he finally said. "You came home to nothing..."

It was a stupid assumption on his part, that there had been anything at all left when Al came home from Vietnam. Somehow, in his mind's eye, he always pictured Al mourning his loss in the home he'd shared with his wife, surrounded by his belongings and the empty places that used to hold hers.

She'd had Al declared dead. And when someone dies, you give all their clothing to the Salvation Army, throw out or give away their belongings. Remarry. Sell the house and move away.

No wife, no love, no house...none of the belongings and mementos he'd collected over the years. Not even a favorite sweat-shirt left to provide the familiar comfort of home after years of existing in a cage... She'd taken everything from Al, left him with nothing at all.

_Nothing._

All Sam could do was cling to Al, let him soothe the sorrow. It had always been painful to think about that part of Al's past. His empathy was on the extreme side, especially now that they were lovers. Now...he didn't think anything could ever hurt more. And if he was feeling this way, how had Al survived it?

He also suffered the burden of guilt. He was accepting comfort, when it should have been him, offering it.

"No one's ever cared about me as much as you do," Al said softly. Knowing, as always, exactly what Sam needed to hear. He lifted Sam's chin, gazing into his face. "It was a long time ago, in the past. You've given me the future."

"Is it enough?" he whispered, biting his tongue for letting the insecurity show.

"It's everything," Al promised, kissing his lips briefly. "Before you came along...I pretty much figured I was on the downhill side of life. Didn't think I'd ever fall in love again, at my age, made due with casual relationships. But you..." He paused, love and wonder sparkling in his eyes. "You make me feel like a teenager again. Like I'm in love for the first time in my life."

"I want to heal all your pain," Sam vowed. "Especially the pain _I_ caused," he added, feeling that this was partly his fault. He'd had the chance to fix things for Al. Only he'd blown it.

"You _have_," Al assured. "We heal each others pain. That's what we're here for."

That was undeniably true. They'd clung to each other like talismans against the pain and emptiness, ever since Sam finally leaped home. He'd moved into Al's apartment--and his bed--on his first night home, and never left.

"I've had a good life, Sam. Sure, I had more than my share of rotten luck, but remember, it's made me into the terrific person you see before you," Al said with a grin, making Sam smile. "I wouldn't want a perfect past, I've learned from my bad experiences. Man, did I learn!" he added ruefully.

"So have I," Sam told him.

"I know."

"I love you just the way you are, if that's not selfish. For your strength, your courage, your pride, and your humanity. The man you are today--the man I fell in love with."

Al said nothing. He was still getting used to verbally expressing his feelings, but his face mirrored his emotions. He leaned over and brushed Sam's lips with his own. "You gave those whose lives you leaped into a chance. You've helped people to find their own way. But in the end, we all choose our own paths. I accept my mistakes. And I've chosen my path...with you. Can you accept that also, and respect it?"

"I do," Sam murmured, pulling Al's head down for a proper kiss, long and sensuous. Still the best form of communication; maybe Al had the right idea.

"Remember those words," Al said when they parted, with a twinkle in his eye. "You may need them one day."

"Count on it." Sam rested his head on Al's chest, listening to the reassuring sound of his heartbeat. Feeling as if Al's life was in his hands, delicate and infinitely precious. "What's in the box?"

"Oh, birth certificate, a couple of family photos. Stuff like that. Things Beth felt she shouldn't destroy, but didn't want, I guess. I don't know why she didn't get rid of them. I took the picture of Trudy, left the rest there."

"Why?"

"I wanted my past buried. Forgotten. Funny thing, I couldn't bring myself to destroy them, either. Guess I do understand her, after all."

"The past doesn't stay buried though, does it? No matter how much we want it to. Maybe it needs to be faced, and put to rest." Sam was using Al's own logic on him; his advice for handling the unique type of delayed stress leaping had caused. Face and deal with them. Learn to accept them.

"You're a pretty smart guy, Sam. That's great advice," Al teased.

"Yes, it is," he answered meaningfully.

Al was quiet for awhile before he spoke. "So, you feel like taking a little vacation?"

"Where to?" he asked with a knowing grin.

"San Diego."

"Love to."

"Love you." Al proceeded to punctuated the words with action, and Sam welcomed him with passionate abandon.

Coming home isn't always easy. But sooner or later, we all come home.

**the end**

2/9/94


End file.
